


there ain't nothin' that i need.

by redhoods



Series: we stood as steady as the stars. [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Caleb presses behind him again and the fridge opens with a soft creak, “We’ll need more cream,” he says and before Fjord can respond, “I’m adding it to the list.” The fridge closes again and there’s a gentle scritch of pen on paper as Caleb adds to their grocery list.Tomorrow, he’ll go to the farmer’s market after his shift at the cafe with Molly.Maybe there’ll be fresh strawberries he can surprise Caleb with.-----collection of modern au ficlets





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> these are some of the soft prompt fics that i've been doing that i realized fit perfectly into the modern au i'd already started so... here they all are together and linked that that fic. they can all be read alone though and still make plenty of sense.
> 
> title is from home is wherever i'm with you by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros.
> 
> first chapter was prompted by elizabeth who wanted domestic, cooking together softness.

A hand touches his lower back, the soft brush of a kiss to his shoulder, and Fjord curves against the counter a little so Caleb can slide behind him to get to the stove. “Danke, liebling,” Caleb says and sizzling follows as Caleb lays meat into the hot skillet.

Their apartment is small, kitchen laughable, but they’ve learned how to move around each other with only an occasional elbow to the gut.

He focuses on slicing the garlic and half an onion, careful, even dices, and Caleb waits until he pauses to scrape them to the side to dig his chin into his shoulder. Absently, Fjord turns his head and kisses the crown of Caleb’s, then rough chops some parsley from the little herb garden he has on their balcony.

“The herbs are doing well,” Caleb says, reaching out and thumbing over one of the parsley leaves.

It’d taken a little time and patience and a few packs of seeds for Fjord to get the hang of it, quiet conversations on the phone with Caduceus about where to position them and about keeping mint in its own container far away from the others.

He nods, “Balcony smells real good now too.” He lifts the cutting board and scrapes the onion and garlic into a pot to sweat them out a little before he adds the butter.

“Potatoes will be done soon, I think,” Caleb steps away to check the meat and Fjord watches him quietly, takes him in. The rumpled button up that he wore to work now undone four buttons at the top, revealing freckled skin and dark chest hair, his sleeves rolled up his forearms, his hair falling out of his elastic.

Affection and desire pulse warmly through him and there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here with this beautiful man.

Even when Caleb catches him out and out staring at quirks an amused brow at him.

Fjord smiles at him and turns to stir the onions before he adds the butter. It presses his arm to Caleb’s and he doesn’t move away, occupying himself with stirring the pot.

“Potatoes,” Caleb says, that internal clock of his more accurate than any timer.

Grabbing a fork, Fjord stabs at one of the potato chunks in the boiling water. It slides off as soon as he lifts the fork and he hums, “Perfect,” and feels Caleb move away from his side. Pot holders come into his line of sight and he takes them without a word, using them to lift the pot off the burner.

Behind him, the burner clicks off as Caleb retakes his own place tending to the meat.

Fjord steps to the sink, careful with himself and the pot, knuckles narrowly scraping the spice rack on the wall but it doesn’t budge. Steam billows as he starts pouring then tips the pot, dumping the potatoes into the strainer. “Check the--”

“--butter is melted,” Caleb interjects and another burner clicks off.

He huffs off a quiet laugh and pulls a large bowl from one of the higher shelves above his head.

There’s barely room for it on the counter, but it’s the only one they have that’ll do so he moves the steaming potatoes into it and accepts the masher that Caleb hands him.

Caleb presses behind him again and the fridge opens with a soft creak, “We’ll need more cream,” he says and before Fjord can respond, “I’m adding it to the list.” The fridge closes again and there’s a gentle scritch of pen on paper as Caleb adds to their grocery list.

Tomorrow, he’ll go to the farmer’s market after his shift at the cafe with Molly. 

Maybe there’ll be fresh strawberries he can surprise Caleb with.

The bottle of cream clinks off the counter when Caleb sets it just out of range of his elbow and Fjord hums his appreciation as he works on mashing the potatoes.

He’s expecting Caleb to squeeze behind him again, but he’s not expecting Caleb to stop, to cup his hips and touch his forehead to the space between his shoulders. It settles him, quiets the spinning thoughts in his head, and Fjord breathes out quietly.

“Ich liebe dich,” Caleb says as he withdraws, though his palm drags in lingering pressure against Fjord’s lower back.

“Love you too, Cay,” Fjord replies, slanting him a smile, before he turns back to the bowl. He doesn’t want to overmash, so he stops and scoops up the cream. It’s an eyeball thing that drives Caleb nuts every time, the way Fjord simply guesses how much he’ll need and how often he’s right about it.

Caleb’s more of a baker, though anytime he cooks meat it always comes out perfect.

He gets a big spoon from the utensil cup and mixes the potatoes, fluffing them up before he adds the melted butter mixture to it. Last is the parsley and then he sets about getting plates and glasses down for each of them.

“Plate,” Caleb says from the stove, nearly startling Fjord.

Stepping over to join him, Fjord offers each plate in turn.

They dish out their food in quiet unison and Fjord takes them into the living room while Caleb gets their drinks and utensils.

Their living room isn’t much bigger than the kitchen, room for the couch and Caleb’s desk and not much else. One day, they’ll have something bigger, something for the both of them, with a bigger kitchen and an office for Caleb and maybe somewhere he can plant a garden.

Until then, he’s okay with squishing together on the couch to eat their dinner, Caleb’s legs over his lap as he talks about his students and upcoming spring break plans.


	2. finding their house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> green wanted finding a place together. 
> 
> as someone who is currently in the process of finding a place to live, i feel fjord's pain.

Fjord steps into the bedroom and immediately wishes he hadn’t, which isn’t something he ever thought he’d think about he and Caleb’s shared room, but he’ll make an exception for this.

It’s not... bad per se, but it’s the sort of storm Fjord doesn’t want to get caught up in.

That storm being Caleb on an organizing and planning binge. There are too many highlighters and too many post its and Fjord knows he’s only going to get in the way, but Caleb looks up at him, highlighter cap between his teeth, grinning and gesturing for him to come over, and he knows he’s lost already.

He hesitantly steps to the bed, but doesn’t touch it, not wanting to disrupt whatever flow Caleb has. 

There’s always some method to the chaos, some pattern that only Caleb’s overworked, sharp mind can conjure up. At least, Fjord thinks so. It just looks like a ton of papers, all randomly highlighted with sticky notes attached. He’s hesitant to even touch one of them.

Caleb drops the cap out of his mouth, in a move very reminiscent of Frumpkin suddenly deciding he’s bored of a toy, and beams, “I think I found a house!”

Fjord blinks at him, takes a few seconds to process, “Wait, really?” 

It’s hard not to get his hopes up, but it’s also hard to do just that. They’ve had a lot of good finds in the process, the last few months they’ve been looking, but one thing or another has cropped up and got in their way. Their deadline is looming over both of their heads, the knowledge that they need to find a place before their lease is up, otherwise they’re going to be stuck in this small shoebox for another year.

He trusts Caleb though, trusts his judgement.

“It’s two stories, just the master bed and bath upstairs, a study, good sized kitchen, garden in the back,” Caleb rattles on about the sort of stuff Fjord doesn’t know much of anything about, but that’s okay because Caleb also thrusts a small pack of papers held together by an orange paper clip shaped like a cat.

He grins at the sight of it, rubs his thumb over the clip, then actually looks at the papers.

Caleb must’ve printed these at work because their home printer is an old monstrosity that half the time doesn’t print cyan when they print in color, but the house in the picture is a soft baby boy, with a big bay window on the first floor and a nicely trimmed front yard.

There are other things about it, facts listed below it about, the sort of things that Fjord never thought about before they started looking for a house. Like the heating system and if they would be on city water and how old the pipes were.

If the house would come with appliances.

Those were the sorts of things Caleb thought about.

Fjord mostly looked at pictures and tried to imagine he and Caleb existing in those spaces.

He flips the page to look at the rest of the pictures there, even if they’re small printed out. Doesn’t even realize that Caleb’s no longer speaking until a hand waves over the papers. “What?” He blinks, drags his gaze to Caleb.

There’s a smear of orange highlighter on Caleb’s cheek and two pens holding his hair up in a bun. His smile is soft, but wide, pleased, “Is gut, ja?”

“Can we see it?” He asks and rocks on his feet, handing the papers back.

Somehow, Caleb’s smile gets wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “Tomorrow, we’re meeting the realtor at 10.”

Fjord bursts out a laugh, a little bit hysterical, but a lot relieved. Like a bubble of tension has suddenly burst in his chest, and papers be damned, he tackles Caleb back onto the bed, smattering kisses over his face while Caleb laughs. Papers crinkle under them and there’s a pen jabbing him in the knee and he doesn’t care.

\-----

The next day, they’re both too excited about seeing the house that they beat their realtor there. It doesn’t matter though, as soon as Fjord puts the truck in park, Caleb’s already out the door, crossing the street to stand in front of the house.

Fjord follows only a fraction more sedate, if only because he doesn’t want to accidentally lock his keys in his truck again.

They stand shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the house, and Caleb’s the one to link their fingers together, squeeze his hand so tight it’s almost painful. “This is our house,” he says, vehement, no nonsense.

Swallowing thick against a wave of emotion, Fjord nods, turns to press his lips to the crown of Caleb’s head, “This is our house,” he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter. feel free to send me a prompt.


End file.
